Give a Man a Beer and He’ll Solve the World’s Problems

Tomorrow is another day and November you can vote

The men sat staring at the campfire as the embers glowed red. John threw the last of his cold coffee on the fire causing ashes to spit into the air. A gust of smoke filled the air and chairs moved back as the smoke moved forward. “Damn, why’d you do that?”

“Goin’ to bed.” John acted on impulse. If he thought about going to bed, he went to bed. If the coffee was cold, he poured it out. It didn’t matter if the result was a mushroom cloud or dampened spirits when he made a decision. Just like the time he punched the teen for flipping mud on his car. The kid didn’t mean harm; he just wasn’t thinking when he pulled beside John in a jeep caked with mud after a hill climb and began to clean the windows.

While his friend pumped gas, the kid streaked the windows with a squeegee, flicked off the mud, and streaked again. The action became an issue when the mud jumped and landed on the hood of John’s Mustang. John’s response was automatic, he hit the kid. Then, without hesitation, he got into the Mustang and drove away. There wasn’t any premeditation to his action. He just responded to his immediate emotions and then went on about his day. Tonight, with the same mechanical movements, John walked to his tent and crawled into his sleeping bag.

Hank changed his gaze from the fire to the stars, partly to avert his eyes from the smoke and partly to find a story in the sky. He didn’t care if John stayed or went because he lived for the world around him, appreciated what it had to offer and didn’t pine over what was absent. During the profound conversation of the night, his mind had drifted in and out; taking note of what provided interest and ignoring what did not. Nobody said goodbye to John, and he didn’t expect it.

For Hank, the profound really wasn’t so substantial and the conversation lost authority when restricted by humans. The fire provided the insight as he watched it consume, produce, and regenerate simultaneously. Though he added little to the conversation, he fed the fire with a continual supply of fuel. Ultimately, the fire seemed to captivate the people within its realm of control thus, allowing Hank to control the conversation through his silent movements.

The embers supplied pictures and he didn’t care who the speaker was anymore than he cared who authored Gone with The Wind. “Nobody truly believes society is falling apart and will self destruct.” The fire shifted permitting a pinecone to slip into the intense coals and disintegrate.

“Everybody knows,” a log dislodged from the stack and rolled away from the fire, “that people’s work ethic is not what it used to be. My grandfather talks about the pride he felt when he could accomplish more as a manual laborer mopping floors and stocking shelves than a CEO. Now-a-days, all I hear is what’s in it for me.”

Tossing a handful of pine needles into the fire, Hank began to experiment. The needles scattered throughout the twenty-inch ring; each reacting in a manner appropriate to the temperature. He vaguely heard shuffling and felt the weight of bodies moving and adjusting. “‘Everybody knows,’ that kind of statement makes you sound as old fashioned as your grandfather. I suppose you believe he walked to school in the snow with both feet wrapped in newspaper and it was uphill both ways.”

“No, but I think he had a point.”

“Crazy sucker. The boss was proud he got extra work outta him.” The chairs sunk a little into the dirt as they adjusted to new positions.

Hank got a glimpse of a bug, maybe a fire ant, walking into the heat. He chuckled at his own joke. Struck by the bravery of such a tiny creature, he wondered if it was just stupidity as the tiny creature walked knowingly closer to the fire without concern for his wellbeing. To Hank’s eyes, he seemed to be sprinting towards death. Several minutes passed. Just inches before marching up to a piece of burning Styrofoam, probably the remains of John’s cup, someone sighed then said a little louder than necessary, “Damned if you do and damned if you don’t. The suits control the strings that manipulate every movement. We’re all just puppets.”

“This convo is gettin’ a little serious for a campfire. Don’t ya think? I thought we was goin to relax and drink beer.”

The ant reached the cup just as the heat melted the nonflammable material leaving a black outline of his accomplishment. “All our hard work don’t add up to nothin’. Might as well enjoy the beer while we can. Maybe a six-pack will solve all the world’s problems.”

Not a sole noticed the shooting star blaze overhead. Hank’s eye caught a flash just as the star faded out. “I suppose life is fleeting.” Hank kept this thought to himself because the guys would make a crack about his idealism; they often harassed him about being a romantic when he thought he was simply realistic. His head moved rapidly to erase the ideas threatening to escape his lips. Theses guys would really go crazy if I told them their actions are responsible for the state of world. Tipping the can, Hank downed the last of the liquid.

Maybe the beer tempered his reason. Maybe watching the bravery of the ant challenged his judgement. But he responded after hearing someone slur, “There ain’t nothing we can do about it. It is what it is. Cheers to the ol’ red, white and blue. Make America great again, my ass!”

“You guys are full of shit. I love ya all but come on. Get real. My ol’ man taught me positive results come from hard work. I learned to enjoy a cold beer after sweating to complete the job. If you’re so unhappy, do something about it. Standup in the light of day and say something instead of complain’ at night around a campfire where there ain’t even enough light to see who’s speakin’.” Unannounced, John appeared from his tent. Again, without prior thought, he relieved himself on a nearby tree before moving to stand beside the fire. He never looked anyone in the eye or even showed a concern if they listened when he said, “You guys think too much. Talking shit and drinking beer doesn’t amount to a hill of beans. The vote is all that matters. Geez, stop all this racket a go to bed.

As John turned around his nightshirt hiked up a little and he mooned the group. As a man of few words, he knew how to make a point. The fire hissed as someone threw water on it to douse the flames.

Brenda Mahler writes about life, sometimes fiction but mostly non-fiction. If you enjoy the message, visit her blog, I AM My Best!